There was something secret and superstitious in the girl's fondness for Mrs.Blyth.She appeared unwilling to let others know what this affection really was in all its depth and fullness: it seemed to be intuitively preserved by her in the most sacred privacy of her own heart, as if the feeling had been part of her religion, or rather as if it had been a religion in itself.
Her love for her new mother, which testified itself thus strongly and sincerely, was returned by that mother with equal fervor.

From the day when little Mary first appeared at her bedside, Mrs.Blyth felt, to use her own expression, as if a new strength had been given her to enjoy her new happiness.

Brighter hopes, better health, calmer resignation, and purer peace seemed to follow the child's footsteps and be always inherent in her very presence, as she moved to and fro in the sick room.
All the little difficulties of communicating with her and teaching her, which her misfortune rendered inevitable, and which might sometime have been felt as tedious by others, were so many distinct sources of happiness, so many exquisite occupations of once-weary time to Mrs.
Blyth.

All the friends of the family declared that the child had succeeded where doctors, and medicines, and luxuries, and the sufferer's own courageous resignation had hitherto failed--for she had succeeded in endowing Mrs.Blyth with a new life.

And they were right.